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BEYOND MIGHT
Part I: Harry Potter and the Sword of Time
Chapter III: The Hogwarts Professor
Harry opened the door with a wide grin on his face. Soon enough, the grin was replaced by an expression of awe, as he was rather astounded with the figure standing on the foyer.
There in tiny Little Whinging was a giant of a man. He looked at Harry with curiosity in his dark and intelligent eyes before beaming him a very charming smile.
"O my, look at yeh: Harry Potter, I presume," he said extending his hand towards him. He had a booming voice and a nice accent that Harry could not place it very well—something north-ish that made him trust the man almost immediately, somehow. "It is very nice ter meet you, very nice indeed. I am Rubeus Hagrid, a Pr'fessor at Hogwarts School of—"
He stopped just in time. He looked around him warily and put on a hand over his mouth playfully—just then Harry noticed Mr Wilson walking suspiciously slowly across the street. He waved at him, and he nodded back to Harry. He had a wary expression but Harry waved him off. Hagrid looked at the interaction with a smile and commented with a bit of humour:
"Well, of somethin' or another. But yeh already know that, huh?" He said while blinking at him.
Harry smiled at the man. So this was a wizard, then?
Would Harry grow to that height, too? He added that question atop of his already very large mountain of questions bubbling over his stomach waiting to come out—already bigger than Professor Rubeus Hagrid if he dared to say so.
"Professor Hagrid, thank you for your visit. Please come in, come in. I prepared some lunch for us. What kinds of magic do you teach at Hogwarts, sir?"
Professor Hagrid let out a booming laugh.
"No magic, or at least not so much, but I do show somethin' or another, ha! I teach all there is ter know abou' magical creatures, worms, beasts, birds and even plants if they bite too hard," he said. "Which I mighta jus' do now, too. It smells wonderful—you prepared lunch, did yeh? Well, what can I say: a bloke cannot get this large by refusing meals every now and then, can he? Lead the way then, Harry!"
He directed the professor towards the coat-hanging hooks and found it a bit funny when the thing gave a bit of a protest when the man put on his heavy fur-covered cloak over four of them simultaneously. The Professor clapped his hands as he continued to speak.
"Well, I have ter say, this place did not change a bit—"
Harry was surprised by his announcement.
"So you had already visited, Professor Hagrid? I had not remembered you."
He waved him off.
"O, please drop that Pr'fessor Hagrid, thing, Harry—if yeh don' mind me callin yeh Harry, of course; never saw the need fer all tha' Mr an' Lord an' Tis Honourable stuff, ha, " he said, letting out a short laugh. "Hagrid will do jus' fine, don' worry; or Rubeus—but there's not anyone that calls me Rubeus; bit of a mouthful, don' yeh think?"
Harry hesitated before answering the professor.
"I don't mind. Well, thanks … Hagrid. Please do come in."
Hagrid followed him into the dining room where Harry had already put some of the baked goods.
"Teh answer yer question, last time I was here was some ten years ago or so. Saw yeh when yeh was a little one. I remember I could fit yeh in the palm of my hand," he looked down at his hands. "Well, more like three of yeh, but yeh get the gist, eh?"
Harry laughed at him and pushed the chair back for him to sit on. He had purposefully done so because he had picked a reinforced one that Uncle Vernon had fixed for him to sit on comfortably. Even so he was a bit apprehensive as the professor sat on it.
He waited with a bated breath, but—oof, it did not break.
"I remember still the ol' Vernon Dursley, mighty radged with the whole thing. But Petunia wouldn't have yeh raised anywhere else, so here yeh are."
Hagrid beamed appreciatively at him, leaving Harry a bit disconcerted and blushing. Harry paused as the words settled in. So he was here when he was given off to the Dursleys, then? He showed the professor a yellow smile as he went back to the kitchen to bring the pie to the table.
"Say, Harry. Where are them that they still haven' gotten around to meet the visiters? I know I can be a bit scary, but I don' bite—no more, that is," he chortled from the other room. "Oh my, that is a beauty, eh?"
Harry put the pie on the table and was just now glad that he had not made smaller servings—as Professor Hagrid had said, one wouldn't get that big by refusing meals.
"Cumberland pie, with some beans, bacon, buttered carrots and some cherry fat rascals for the after; there's a bit of juice if the professor likes it too; or tea, but I don't know anyone that have tea with it," Harry said humorously. "That is it. Just—it's a bit cold, now. I'm sorry—"
Then Hagrid pulled out a long stick and pointed at the table. Harry looked at it, fascinated.
"That is it, he says. Fantastic! I'll just munch on one of those rascals 'ere if yeh don' mind me," he said while he ate one in a single mouthful (Harry needed at least five when he was ravenous!). "Wow, this is wonderful! Congratulations to yer aunt, Harry. Or was it yerself that made it? Whomever it was, it is very good. Reminded meself of me father, when we still used to live down in Yorkshire. He used to make these crunchy rock cakes—well, crunchy for me that is; I had already passed his height at that time—but he always made himself a batch of some fluffier ones for him," Hagrid said, while pausing to reminisce. "Well, that's just the thing: sometimes I used ter grab the wrong ones and my poor ol' man did not like me puttin' it back on the plate. So he would just grab one of the rocky ones and gnaw at it for the rest of the day," he told Harry while laughing at the remembrance.
Harry smiled at the professor. He couldn't help but to—he was just one of those types of people. He waved his wand around the table and there was a warm, red light flashing for just a moment; Harry felt the hairs on his forearm stand up as he saw the first spell in his life.
He felt the tray and was surprised by how hot it was. It seemed as if he'd just took it out of the oven. He felt the other items as the professor looked at his wonder with a smile. They all seemed as if they had just now finished preparing.
He already loved magic!
He looked in awe as the Professor put away the wand.
"The temperature should be fixed, now. It is my fault actually. Had a bit of a detour, if yeh know what I mean—there was some emergency that I just had to have a look at, so I'm sorry abou' that. But now I'm here," he finished smiling at Harry's reaction. "Now, I'm sure yeh have a bunch of questions an' all, but I would really prefer that yer relatives were here, so I do the explainin jus' once. Can yeh fetch them for us, Harry?"
Harry looked at him with a bit of unease.
"Well, you see. That's the thing, they had to travel and they could not take me this time, and so I stayed back and they would come back later and …"
And as he was saying it finally downed on him. They had travelled already hadn't they? They were not packaging anything, they were probably already in a boat in the Channel, laughing at him as they went to their resort.
Oh, he hoped it rained; and that it rained a lot on them!
Hagrid examined Harry more carefully, his eyes gazing over just a moment too long at the mending on his old clothes and at the peeling painting on his glasses, and he seemed to understand something; he let out a disdainful huff before saying:
"Well, hope yeh don't mind me saying that, Harry, but I don' feel so distressed hearing that. They were really summat else—kind of nasty, if you woulda allow me ter say. Have they changed at all? I know their house didn't."
Harry grinned.
"Well, Uncle Vernon got fatter; Aunt Petunia got thinner; Dudley learned to count to eight—the usual."
Hagrid chortled and punched the table. A bunch of crumbs went out onto it, but Harry did not mind at all if he was honest—he was having the fun of his life. He served himself a piece of pie and smiled inwardly as Hagrid cut the whole of it in halves and piled one of them up on his plate.
"That I wished to see. Wouldn't put it past the ol' Dursley to be a challenge to me in size now, eh? And Petunia would not change that much, of course. And they had a son, too, yes. I remember it now. Kid was a personality already at that age. How is Dudda now? Is he good to yeh or is he that annoying type?"
Dudda! Oh, Harry would love to see Aunt Petunia's face. He just had to remember it when they came back!
"Oh, he is … alive, I think. He breathes in and out, can speak English, has a pair of arms and can walk on two legs just fine. He still is learning how to put on pants, but he is an inspiration still," he said grinning.
Hagrid this time couldn't hold it in. He laughed so hard that a piece of meat the size of a thumb jumped off his fork and fell on the table. Harry put his own down as he himself laughed with the man. Already off the top of his mind he could not remember a time when he had so much fun.
Well, there had been that time when Mrs Figg had—
'Not this now, Harry. We can worry about her later!'
"Yeh're a joker then, eh? I know I'll just have to put yeh in the same room as Gideon to see what comes out, ha! I didn't know what I expected, but this is pretty nice if yeh know what I mean; thanks a lot Harry," he said before pulling out his wand again and just—
He just vanished all the mess from the table: crumbs, stains—even old ones. Just like that! And the food stayed! How had he made it so only the mess disappeared? It was simply, well, magical! Harry again was awed by it all. Hagrid caught his impressed face.
"Oops, I forgot yeh still weren't used to magic. But don' worry, soon enough yeh'll learn everything there is to learn, in the finest school there is in the world, if yeh can excuse a pr'fessor's favouritism, of course," he said while winking at him.
He lifted off a glass pitcher of orange juice as if one was lifting a beer cup for Harry to toast. Harry lifted off his own cup and clinked Hagrid's.
"To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," and then he downed it all. Harry was fascinated by it.
"Now," Hagrid continued. "I know this can be all a bit strange and weird to a person that was raised by muggles like yeh—"
"Muggles?" Harry asked remembering that word Aunt Petunia had mentioned.
"Well, non-magical people, but that jus' isn't practical in my opinion, yeh know? I mean, what kind of people find it better to say No-Maj in place of jus' sayin muggle? Well, I know just the kind of people that would do that, but I don't like ter mess too much with them—had my fair share of thunderbirds already—don' fancy getting a shock no mor' if I can help it; an' the eagles! Yeh wouldn't believe how they tamed 'em Harry, an' what they taught them to do. Oh, they can do some nasty damage," he commented as he pierced a bit of pie with the fork. "But as I was sayin, there's so many creatures out there that don't have magic—and I'd say they would get pretty mad to be lumped up with muggles too, so I jus' don' think it is a very good term, yeh know what I mean?"
Harry did not know what he meant, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Well, you don'," Hagrid said amusedly. "But you will soon and there's no doubt abou' that. No need to worry, Harry, Hogwarts is the best school in the world; soon enough yeh'll be teaching me new spells," he quipped as he laughed at Harry's blush and stammer. "I jus' know the face of a student who didn't understand anythin, yeh know? Pr'fessor Dumbledore didn't make me teach classes jus' because of my pretty eyes, ha!" He said while winking at Harry.
Harry smiled at Hagrid.
"Now, I s'ppose you have some questions, haven't you? Generally Pr'fessor McGonagall or Pr'fessor Flitwick or another one of them that can clean up a bit better than meself woulda come to explain everything to yeh, but they had been very busy these days—because of some school stuff not really important to us right now. An' I already happened to know yeh before, so I volunteered meself to come an' explain it to yeh. But I know that your aunt probably already said somethin about it all befor'. So I would like to propose somethin to yeh: why don' you begin explainin to me what yeh already know and we build on that?"
And then Harry began to speak. It did not take long for him to talk about everything he knew about magic and wizardkind, mainly because—well, he didn't knew anything about it, to be honest; after he had cut all the prejudices and name-callings, there was very little to talk about. Hagrid listened attentively, nodding at times, arching his eyebrows or even laughing at some of his descriptions. All in all, Harry had finished quite quickly. Hagrid waited expectedly for him to continue, but when he did not, he hummed and stared into space for a moment.
"Well, Harry, how should I put it," he began while stroking his beard. "Magic is so much more than that—I hope that she didn't spoil it ter yeh; she didn't do a good job at all explainin' it. It is kinda barmy ter be honest with yeh; no, sir, there's no way that Harry Potter wouldn't come to the school—it's not like she could have done anythin' to keep yeh from Hogwarts even if she wanted to, because believe me, yeh wouldn't miss Hogwarts fer nothin'," he said while getting up. "Hold on fer a minute, I'll just grab somethin on my coat."
The giant stood up and just now a strange thought popped on Harry's mind.
How could Hagrid even get through the door? Now that he concentrated on it, he felt as if something had suddenly appeared in front of him, a kind of veil that could not be unseen. And yet, the more he concentrated on it, the more it seemed to escape him. He fixated that thought for a moment …
But then his concentration was broken, and that weird vision seemed to dispel itself as Hagrid turned the corner. Harry scratched his head in confusion and wondered what kind of strange magic was going on here to fit that giant inside in a place where ceilings were so low.
But then that train of thought was broken again, because he heard it echoing from where Hagrid was rummaging this things a mighty bellow, followed by a deep croak.
"No! No! Back inside! Yes. No mor' cheese fer yeh; yeh, too! Yes, that is it, good boys."
And then the man came back. Harry looked more attentively at that strange veil again, but now that he tried to focus on it he simply could not see anything weird. But still, he managed to recognise that there was some kind of magic at work there—Hagrid was so tall that he would've managed to get a look at the crack between door and floor of the doors on the upper story corridor if he had just stayed at the first step of the stairs.
"Sorry abou' that. There were some cheeky chilly polliwogs—way too tricky fer their own good—trying ter get a look aroun' the house. Nice little creatures to have around, specially in the Summer, when cooling charms jus' don't cut it. An' I just realised I lost my wombat," Harry blinked at that as Hagrid continued. "But he will find me sooner or later, I'm sure. But that is somethin' for later. Well, look at this here. Managed to take it just a year ago; paid a pretty penny for it too, because it had to stay on that special potion for days because it has so much stuff innit," he said while brandishing a large coloured picture to Harry.
Harry blinked as he stared at the magnificent castle.
It was prevalently built with some type of gothic architecture but here and there he saw some older foundations, more rough and less detailed. It was filled with courtyards and lawns, with beautiful, coloured and flowered tress throughout all of it. There was, from where the picture was taken from above, some twenty main buildings (each one with many towers and turrets) in the field of vision—or more!—each one with more beautiful stained glass than the other. It was set atop a high mountain that jutted out of one of the shores of a big lake, with a big forest surrounding all, and Harry thought he could just make, here and there, a glint of a window in the side of the mountain. Harry was absolutely marvelled by it all; and he was all the more surprised when suddenly—
Suddenly it moved! Well, not suddenly now that he paid more attention to it. It moved slowly as if panning out the whole castle. He just stayed there, amazed, rooted to his chair, only occasionally putting a forkful of pie on his mouth, for quite some minutes as Hagrid pointed out the various landmarks to him.
"These are the greenhouses where yeh'll learn Herbology! There's a big maze underneath all of it that a Scotaurus managed to burrow some ten years ago. Poor thing was lost, but Pr'fessor Sprout managed to find somethin' fer her to guard fer us—she's called Minnie now," Hagrid said laughing. "Pr'fessor McGonagall wouldn't talk ter me or ter Pr'fessor Sprout fer a good month after that," he said with a glint on his eyes.
Harry couldn't speak as Hagrid went on and on about the school. His heart was so filled with wonder and joy that he could only laugh and smile as Hagrid went on and on with the many whimsical tales and funny stories about the castle.
"Tha' big surly bronze bird on top of Ravenclaw Tower—that is, that big one, the tower closest ter the forest—disappeared in Winter 1983. The Claws wreaked havoc in Gryffindor Tower tryin' ter find it—that is, this one closer ter the pitch here, with the big red golden lion banner that almost touch the grounds—they are a showy bunch, that's fer sure. Gus Fletcher, of Ravenclaw, class of 1986, climbed up the tower using the banner an' was almost caught, but he nicked the trio of jade mini-lions that roam the upper floors of the tower with a nice petrifying spell and some fast feet to scurry away down the tower; yeh just had to be ther' to see! Some three hundred suits of armour jumping after him before he managed to get to the Common Castle Area; oh, the Gryffs were angry—Hogwarts was practically a battlefield for a few months. It only ended when the Gryffs got the lions back after that darned eagle came back in Summer 1985 with fourty nine eaglets, can yeh believe it—and I am not kidding, because I had to put little inscriptions in the breast of each one of the little devils; and they weren't even proper eaglets ter be honest, more like tiny miniature eagles; they could fly but they were just as childish! The ones that are made of gold or some other precious metal were easy to catch, but there was one of them that was made of some kind of dark stone that I only got him some five months ago, and it was a cheeky little bugger, too, because it liked to perch on top of my house."
Hagrid then pointed to the approaching edge of the forest. It seemed the … camera was getting closer and closer to a hut, made up of solid stone and wood—rough-looking and simple, but very homely.
"An' that's me house, and that big lump in front of it is meself, of course. Never liked too much the sleepin' quarters. Even in me sixth year, I already liked spending more time in a tent outside the castle than inside it—almost gave ol' Kettleburn a heart attack once gettin' out of the forest one morn'. Gave a lotta work to Ogg, too, but at that time he wasn't so brooding as nowadays."
The camera didn't seem to stop approaching the Hagrid in the picture, and that beaming smile he was giving it suddenly turned yellow and Hagrid jumped out of the way as the cameraman suddenly pulled the image upwards. Hagrid let out a huff as he explained it to Harry.
"The one with the camera that tried ter kill me there with that broom—that's Charlie Weasley fer yeh; cheeky bugger. Graduated just over a year ago; he was a great Seeker, too. Gryffindor's Quidditch Team was absolutely trounced last year when he went to play in the first league of Romania—the only other place where they're more fanatical about this stuff than us. He even played two matches for England—he was a Beater, though; why, I can't even begin to understand. That idiot Coach Attlesea gave the Seeker position to Merryl—don't suppose him marrying his niece had anythin' to with it, neither, ha! Batavia and Gascony put us in the dust—Olympe's letter were full of little flags for weeks after that match—and we will only be in the 94' Cup because we'll host it in Dartmoor. Otherwise, we would just repeat that fiasco we had in Anatolia last year enough times until we were out, as we did those last two matches. Charlie and half of the English there in the game against Batavia wanted to put the bat to Merryl's head after that idiot grabbed a canary and commemorated in front of the whole crowd, but at least Charlie cooled his head down, left all this mess and went to work with somethin' a bit less dangerous," Hagrid finished, laughing—way too hard, even; there was a joke there, but Harry didn't get it.
Harry's head was spinning with so much information, and as he saw the camera pan out to put the castle in view. He had so many questions, so many wonderings. There was only too much to discover, and what little he had seen and felt already left him thirsty for more. He absolutely loved magic, that castle, the meanderings of Hagrid about its inhabitants and the promise of a whole world out there, just out of view but already dear to him.
"Hagrid, what is Quidditch?"
Hagrid let out a hearty laughter.
"I supposed yeh woulda ask it of me, but not so early. But it is in the blood, no doubt abou' that," he said while putting down the fork and motioning him back to the Living Room. "Let us sit on that nice settee of your aunt."
And they talked and talked; and Harry was muted at times; sad and mournful; horrified, even, when he learned more about Lord Voldemort and about—he felt a sour taste in his mouth just thinking about it—the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.
He learned some things that were not pleasant; his wonderful image of this new world was teared.
But it was not completely ripped apart.
Amidst the darkness something surged. He would never forget the story—the legend!—of sacrifice, of love, of James and Lily Potter. Hagrid sang to him a tragedy, but it only gave Harry new strength and new hope.
This was the world of his parents; his world. This was the legacy he was born into, something integral to his whole being, that he could not let go even if he wanted. It resonated with him and pulled him more and more; and he smiled as the day wasted on and the voices got hoarser with laughter, with crying, with old remembrances and stories, and with lengthy conversations.
Harry was having one of the best days of his life; he had even forgot the Dursleys existed—there was only Hagrid in front of him, singing the promises and challenges of a new universe.
There it began: the first step of dear Harry, of just Harry, of this precious child, into magic; of this endearing hero into a journey of friendship, adventure, tragedy and greatness; there was his first step into a whole wonderfully wondrous, wickedly wonky, whimsically wacky, full of wrinkled faces and wiggly beards, of wily things and whopping castles, of whomping plants and wandering seers, of weird witches and wary sorcerers, of worn cloaks and wands, and of Weasleys and wombats—sleepily squinting from Hagrid's beard!—world of witchcraft and wizardry.
Harry smiled contently, at last; there it was, finally, his place in the world.
Then came nightfall, and soon Hagrid would have to leave. Already the professor overstayed his presence by much, but he did not mind indulging a little child into knowing more about his world.
Harry Potter was certainly not what Hagrid expected, but he was so much more than some—himself included—could have asked for; he was inquisitive, quite sharp, considerate, extremely humorous, of pure heart and of pure laughter, powerful and perceptive in magic even, if he had sensed and described the spells so naturally. He was James Potter with the geniality of Lily's; he was Lily Potter with the fortitude of James; he was a joy that surely would make his parents proud, and a jewel of a person that he was glad to be a friend now. He regretted to say he did not know James and Lily as much as he'd wished, but he was a friend, nonetheless.
A great friend, indeed, if I may interrupt Hagrid. But this Hagrid always was wistful for more, for having been there when … all happened. It weighed heavily on his mind that he had not the mind to anticipate a visit to the Potters.
He couldn't have known of it, of course—of the tragedy that night would ensue—but he still thought about it sometimes.
There are, as the reader may have already noticed, quite some differences between the Rubeus Hagrid of this universe and others more familiar to them.
This Hagrid carried in him an imperishable will and a mission, that had forever moved him against that … fiend.
He always thought he could've been there to help, to take the fall or—to do more. If he was there, he would make sure that there wasn't no Boy-Who-Lived. It would be the Giant-Who-Stepped-on-the-Snake, or something of the sort. He had a big heart, but Voldemort had taken much from him. He would not give the Dark Lord a chance.
He had learned much about second chances: firstly from the gracious and great Professor Dumbledore, then with the stern Professor Dippet, with the hardy but forgiving Professor Kettleburn, then with Olympe, and then … Well, he'd learned much from many formidable persons, that he'd always treasure and would always remember.
But he would not—never!—give a second chance to Lord Voldemort—a benefit only attributable to His Most Vile and Rotten Lordship. And now …
He looked at the child in front of him as he excitedly babbled about the wonders of magic and of his great tales—what a wondrous thing to hear him recounting all of the strange events which had happened to him; and there were many! It had only warranted a different lens for young Harry to see all that was strange and queer around him be justified: magic! That's what it was.
Hagrid was fascinated with him: so young but already so enchanted with magic. He had to admit he had not yet wrapped his mind completely around the wholle Bromyard thing yet, though.
Which made all the anger much more palpable. Professor Dumbledore was a great wizard, but he had made a grave mistake, and he, Hagrid, had participated in it. He remembered when the old wizard had talked to Petunia Dursley—he was there, in the same living room—about her new charge. He remembered her conditions and though it pained Professor Dumbledore to accept them, he did so—as did him, Professor McGonagall and the many more that cared deeply about the boy.
He would be safe there. It lifted their spirits to know that it was finally coming to an end. The world was dark those days, and the might of wizardry was fully exerted. What the Isles had not gone through in the decades before, it was going through it then.
The suffering ended, the spirits abated, darkness receded—but never went away—and Harry was safely away from the mess.
Or at least they dearly hoped. Professor Dumbledore talked about the obvious preference given to Dudley Dursley over Harry, which he only knew about through Arabella Figg. But behind all that there was a kind of certainty that they all shared, all the more so because of how deeply Petunia was moved with Lily's death and how wilfully she'd been prepared to protect Harry.
Mrs Figg had done what she could without overstepping the compromises Petunia had demanded; from what Harry could tell there was indeed something deep inside that cold heart of hers, still. Mrs Figg had not understated it, Hagrid realised. Harry was just very well-spoken and careful—he just knew how to hide it well, sadly.
He wondered if the boy would be sorted in Slytherin. Hagrid secretly wished that would not happen. But even such a crafty boy could not hide everything.
One only needed to go into the house and look around to see it.
Out of the twenty-something portraits in that room, none had the boy. There were stains and mends on his clothes simply incompatible with the relative prosperity of the house. There was no one home but the boy—on a day that an apparently complete stranger would visit him and whisker him away to wherever—Hagrid would have a serious and stern conversation about this with Harry when they had finished everything!
They had made a mistake, and suddenly the wording of Mrs Figg's letters and warnings took a new meaning. What was a ripple might have just turned out to be the first signs of a great whirlpool; hidden but violent and deep, unseen to the eye, but that would sooner or later breach the surface.
Hagrid tried to organise his thoughts as he beamed at the now very talkative Harry.
There were new someones that Hagrid would not afford second chances so easily, he realised, these Dursleys. He wondered if something had happened that made Mrs Figg intervene and suffer the consequences of the compromise; or … if they did something to the old woman.
When Hagrid had first stepped on Little Whinging, he immediately knew that something was wrong—he went to Figg quickly to see the old woman, but she was missing. He rapidly called for the help of some of the creatures known to him and sent a message to Professor Dumbledore. He did not let it show to Harry, but there was clearly something at odds around those parts. This mystery would still have a long way to go, however—it would be more productive to await for a while while the answers are still only tentative and feeble.
Even after all those years, followers of Voldemort still roamed after all, acting in the shadows, but never stopping.
And though it darkened Hagrid's heart to think about the possibilities, about just what he might do to them if given the chance, reader, fear not! All that darkness never overshadowed that gentle giant deep within. And this was most succinctly shown:
"Oh, yer're a beautiful one, aren't yeh?" He said while gently taking the spider away from where she was on the ground near the stairs and opening the door to put her near some bushes. Harry said he did not mind them (at least when they were not crawling oh him), but that Petunia would scream bloody murder if she ever saw one of those in her pristine living room. "Now, yer go and warn your friends this is no place ter build no web, yeh hear me?" He said with a serious expression to the thing. Most would chuckle at the scene, thinking it cute at best and obviously barmy at the worst. Was it just the magic rubbing off on me, or the thing seemed to salute Hagrid's words?
Eh, we'll never know; or will we? There are many chapters to come, after all. Sleep with that uncertainty, reader!
Anyway, Hagrid was just getting back to the living room when he, perchance, decided to open it, that little dusty cupboard, just to see if he had to warn more of them—the spider he had just put outside could be timid, after all—and then he saw it.
He stared at it with his mind strangely blank at first. It would not to do jump to conclusions and it all had a thick layer of dust that it couldn't have been something recent. But, still, the mattress was there, the lamp, some faded children's books.
It had happened, and it was enough.
And it should be enough! Though I may seem like a spoil-sport, I interfere again in this story: we should never allow mistreatment to lose its shocking value, be it seemingly 'mild' or outragingly brutal. Not for any purposes! If I overstep I or overdo it, I can only beg your pardon for not presenting it accurately enough; or with enough respect and tact. Harry did not need suffer so much for a chance of it ending; he did not need suffer at all, and there are many Harry's out there. Hagrid was there that day, and for that we should probably be thankful. But there are many a times when there are simply a lack of goodhearted gentle giants coming to visit.
Hagrid felt a lump in his throat as he looked at the dingy, dirty, cramped thing. It was a relatively steep set of stairs above the little cupboard, which made it all the more painful to see—it was so small … Though it apparently was not being used for some years, there remained still traces of the tragedy, both physical and magical. A few dusty toys remained, sparse but there: police cars, little green soldiers, wooden building blocks; there was also a little—not little, a miniature sock, decorated with images of tiny ducks, alone, on the ground, with a small whole where a toddler could wiggle their toe. Hagrid could feel a small hum still inside it—and he was not sensitive at all to these subtle traces of magic; he could only tell it when they pertained to a particular creature that he had studied, at best. It pulled at him as he got closer, something dark, hungry. He shuddered as he closed the door. He still felt something dark inside the cupboard trying to get a hold of him, pulling at his heartstrings and grasping for life, magic and anything good that he had inside him.
It had reminded him, in the faintest but unmistakable way, at first, of those horrible fiends guarding Azkaban: the Dementors. Then he thought about the Lethifolds, and he shuddered just thinking about it.
But just as he tried to pinpoint those feelings, something else was brought to the forefront of his mind; something which he had only knowledge through reports and books—sparse ones at that—but that sent a chill through his whole being. He remembered not managing to sleep when he had first read about the Obscurials in the beginning of his Mastership training.
He wondered what had happened that it had apparently been halted and abandoned in the cupboard. Was it so dark that the muggles sensed it? Or had Harry overcome this on his own? The thought of a small toddler looking at a mess of dark wisps and feelings of terror, scared and frightened tugged at Hagrid's heart. He would have to study much until he learned how to approach this. For now, he would dedicate himself in showing all that was joyful and good about magic, however.
A cold fury hanged over him, though, threatening to overcome him. He had been harbouring some wrong thoughts about Mrs Figg when he was getting glimpses at just how bad the situation had gotten, but he supposed the old lady would have never known. He blamed Petunia and her darned demands! The boy would have supressed everything, not wanting anyone from outside to know—that he had so many bouts of magic even after all of this was something extraordinary.
Harry would never step in that house again if he had any say on the matter!
"Hagrid, are you still there?" Harry's voice called to him from the living room. The boy was so witty, crafty and seemingly well-adjusted that the worry and apprehension on his tone just made him falter for a moment.
So fragile, so delicate and gentle.
This was an eleven-year old kid.
Worse, he was ten, still! It was only tomorrow that he would be turning eleven! To think that, albeit it all, he still managed to become that gentle and polite kid …
"Hagrid?"
Hagrid cleared his throat before lifting his hands off the door and getting away from it.
"I'm here, Harry"—'and I will be here no matter what,' he added mentally. "I am not leaving yet,"—'or never,' he finished, to himself.
If someone had asked Harry Potter about the best day of his life, he was sure this one would be very close to—if not—the top of the list. Not only he had learned much about his parents, he had learned about magic, about a wonderful world out there, about all that he would be capable of doing in just a few years. He felt that he could just forget about the Dursleys, about Stonewall High, about Smeltings, about Little Whinging on a whim!
Hogwarts! That was where he belonged! He felt it in his heart the more Hagrid spoke about it!
They had talked about many things over the course of the afternoon, and I would be pleased to say that Harry was at least a little more informed about this whole new society than even some of the more studious and determined muggleborns out there. Hagrid did not know it all, of course, and he had left many things unspoken still, but that we will have to just uncover with Harry as these things come to face our favourite wizard!
But one thing above all that they had spoken merited a write-up.
"… and Aunt Petunia could not stand to look at Dudley without a face of complete disgust as they joked about all the mess it had made. And then after, well—" Harry was laughing, but hesitated as he continued his story. "Well, we went to this Ophidium-something—the place where the snakes are at—and the weirdest thing happened. Suddenly it was complaining and nodding and saying all sorts of weird things. It even blinked at me when I was talking to it. I did not know that snakes even could blink. Can they, Ha—" Harry paused as he saw Hagrid's face pale substantially as he went on with his story. He was staring at him as if Harry suddenly had grown a third head or got a pair of fangs coming out of his mouth, with a mixture of fear and apprehension. Harry hesitated once more. "Is everything alright, Hagrid?"
The wombat that had taken to rest before the fire suddenly opened his eyes and glanced at Hagrid warily. It got up from where it was resting and nudged Hagrid's feet with its nose. That seemingly took Hagrid out of his state.
"Well, blimey Harry. You talked to it?"
Harry blinked at the surprised tone in Hagrid's question. He had learned so many whimsical and strange things about the wizarding world. Was talking to snakes just not a common thing, then?
"Well, yes. He even told me that he wished to go to Brazil and that—Hagrid, are you alright?" Harry's voice died as he analysed Hagrid's face.
Hagrid was staring in the distance as Harry answered him, his eyes not focusing on anything, seemingly lost. Harry touched Hagrid's knee to bring up his attention and suddenly the man snapped his head towards him with an intense focus. Harry was a bit wary about it, seeing such a sharp change in the gentle giant.
"Since when did you—" Hagrid's voice died. He could not bring himself to finish the question, but Harry understood it, nonetheless.
"Well, I just noticed it about a month or so ago, when we went to the zoo …"
Hagrid closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Did you tell anyone about it?"
There was something underlying Hagrid's tone that Harry could just not managed to piece out. He trusted him enough, however.
"No, but Piers Polkiss, that is, Dudley's best friend thought I was talking to the snake."
Hagrid inclined forward from where he was seating. The settee protested once again, despite having already been repaired thrice now. Harry was apprehensive with the intensity of Hagrid's gaze.
"Polkiss is a muggle, isn't he?"
Harry nodded, mutely.
Hagrid let out a sigh.
"That's—that's not too bad, I think. But … I wonder …" Harry creased his eyebrows at that, but did not say anything. Hagrid looked at Harry once again before making up his mind. "Do not be scared, please, and trust me just this once."
Harry nodded as Hagrid pointed his wand at his left hand.
"Serpensortia!"
Suddenly a red, white and black annealed snake was in Hagrid's grasp. Harry instinctively backed up but tried to remain rooted in his place—he trusted Hagrid. The little snake tried to fight him for a moment, but Hagrid's hands were just too big, and—Harry let out a little laugh at the situation—he was just too good with handling all manner of creatures, it seemed.
"Unhand me, you brute, you monster! Mum! Muuuuum! I'll bite you, I'll bite you! Arrgh! You smell of chicken, giant! Unhand me! Oh, not there! Yes, scratch—just it … just—yes, that is fine!"
Harry's laughter seemed to catch both Hagrid and the little snake in surprise. They both looked at him with such interesting expressions. Well, Hagrid at least did so. Harry thought he might be going a bit barmy if he was managing to read facial expressions of reptiles, though.
But magic existed! He could not rule out that he was indeed reading the little thing! He laughed even more at that.
The snake looked back at Hagrid and towards Harry again, flickering his tongue about and hissing something.
"Er, he is wondering if you have any chicken on your person that you could spare him. He's also, hey! I'm not—"
And then, to Hagrid's fascination and surprise, Harry began to hiss and make strange sounds back to the little snake which seemed to respond with just as much vigour. Harry shook his finger towards it as if he was scolding it. Hagrid even let out a chuckle as the thing suddenly seemed to lower its head at Harry's … scolding?
It fascinated him how Parselmouths imprinted personalities upon the snakes they came in contact with. He had been able to see it before, of course; it had made him wonder many a times about the treatment wizards afforded to magical creatures. Hagrid tried to do his maximum to give them all proper respect and talked to them — some he was sure understood them; some could answer even, like Aragog; some he did not know about at all, but yet he insisted. Who knows, magic may just favour his fanciful ideas; maybe someday the creatures would answer back. And if they did not … well, it did not hurt treating other beings nicely, after all. They had their own ways of expressing things back, too, even if they could not speak English; it was not like he could demand much of them since he could not even wrap his head around to speak Pixish, or Hipogriffan, or Lobaluguese or Augureic or Billywigian or Dragonese or whatever—he chuckled at his silly made up languages.
And still, he could just think about what kind of things some of those creatures would say back to him.
They certainly not as colourful as what the little snake was speaking, though—that's for sure—if Harry's translations were at least partially correct. Hagrid even blushed as he prepared to undo the summoning. He murmured a special charm upon the little thing—to pay it back for the bother after transporting it so rudely, of course—and sent it back. He looked at Harry in amazement.
And also with a great deal of apprehension.
"Harry, that's—that's a great ability. Really, really amazing. But, an' that's somethin' terrible, but I have ter tell yeh—yeh'll have ter promise me, please: do not tell anyone that yeh have this ability, do yeh understand me?"
Harry continued staring at Hagrid, surprised by his serious expression.
"Harry, Voldemort …" Harry was just now beginning to feel something bad inside him as he heard the name; he supposed it was part of arriving into this wonderful world, after all. "Voldemort was a Parselmouth just like yeh—that's what we call someon' who can talk ter snakes. He used it ter prove his ancestry dating back to the man Salazar Slytherin himself. He even managed to get people ter call him Lord Slytherin—that puffed-up vermin. People were terrified and … awed at him. If they got a whiff of a rumour that yeh have it too …"
Harry paused as he took Hagrid's words in. So Voldemort could talk to them, too? Suddenly Harry felt a little nauseous about his ability. That Slytherin guy too didn't seem like such a good fellow—Hagrid apparently had no lost love for the Hogwarts house that honoured him, too.
"They—some of those bad wizards—woulda want ter have this ability fer themselves; they woulda want ter to try and wrangle it out of yeh. That yeh, Harry, the baby that that monster couldn't kill has the same ability … oh, they would get mad angry."
And as Hagrid spoke and talked about how this ability was supposed to be such a mighty and grand skill, one that only ran through the lineage of the old Founder, Harry felt it was all a bit silly.
He had only met two snakes at this point. Both of them were little strange oddballs at best. He couldn't see what it was so great and powerful and cryptic about them. He wondered what had happened to the Boa constrictor. To 'Tom', he thought amusedly as he remembered the name he had given him—or was it her? He had not asked, after all.
But if it was dangerous as Hagrid was warning him, Harry would follow his lead. He would surely try to know and research more about this, and of other possible dangerous and unique abilities …
He suddenly remembered something. He hesitated once more.
Should he tell the man about that magic with the hair thing? Could wizards modify their appearance without a wand or anything just like he could? Granted, it was accidental, but … oh, he could not wait to get his hand on a book about those kind of things!
'About magic!' He thought, giddy.
Hagrid was already visibly shaken, though, so Harry had decided he had pestered him enough for today. He supposed it could wait another opportunity. He would not reveal his or other abilities to no one—at least not to anyone that Hagrid had not told him about.
He trusted Hagrid, already—he wondered for a short moment if he should. The Hogwarts professor was charming enough, and though he was not what Harry expected of a teacher at a prestigious boarding school, Hagrid blew it right out of the water with his many in-depth explanations about different creatures. He liked the professor enough, and he could not help but like the man.
He wondered how Aunt Petunia would feel if someone like Hagrid was a teacher at Smeltings. Just the thought of what she would say about his clothes, about his appearance, about his accent, about his … all was enough to put a good smile on his face.
He found that he did not care at all about all that.
And if Hagrid should not be trustworthy? Well, he discovered he preferred to be found wrong anyhow.
He wondered at that feeling and tried to understand it more, even as he nodded his agreements back to the giant.
It was a warm and pleasant feeling.
Hagrid had just put on back his cloak—the wombat scampered quickly inside one of the thousand pockets it had—and was seemingly hesitating on the front door. He looked up and down the street with a strange expression, before turning back to Harry.
"Yeh know what, yeh'll not be living with those bumblers this summer no more. Pack yer things up, we're goin' to a magical place right' now."
Hagrid thought the boy would hesitate, would be even a little wary about his proposal. He did not know Hagrid thoroughly after all. If he was honest he should not bring the boy to the alley just now; he should have sticked to the plan and came back tomorrow.
But special circumstances called for unexpected arrangements. He would sit down with him before he went to the school to have a conversation with the boy about not going to places with strangers.
It was not his job to so, but it seemed Petunia had made a catastrophically sequence of errors in the boy's upbringing.
Harry did not hesitate—in the slightest.
His smile could light a room, and it warmed Hagrid's heart. It was so wide that it threatened to cramp the boy's face. He went up the stairs so fast that Hagrid was left chuckling downstairs. While the boy packed up his things, Hagrid let out a whistle in the night—there were several sounds back, which left him scratching his beard.
Well, Hagrid could not speak their languages, but he could well enough communicate with them, nonetheless.
And though to me and to the reader it was all grunts and snarls and strange sounds, to Hagrid they meant something; and what they had told him …
Yes, he had already made up his mind, but that just reinforced it. The area had somehow been clearly interfered with some kind of magic. He wondered worriedly what had happened. He had managed to learn through Harry that Mrs Figg was in the care of Muggle Healers. When he had left for the bathroom, he opportunely wrote a letter to Professor Dumbledore about it, and about his plans to take Harry to Diagon Alley just then. He didn't talk much about the Dursleys but Professor Dumbledore was smart enough to read the in-betweens.
Yes, there were strange things happening around those parts. He wondered how he would manage to take Harry to the alley. The train was out of question, the floo was not working at Figg's, and the magic door that Professor Dumbledore had installed in the Mrs Figg's guests wardrobe had crumpled. Apparating was just impossible for him, now that he was bringing Harry, too …
Well, that and if he was honest with himself, he was just trying to rationalise it: he really did want to ride the bike tonight. He made a deep sound at the back of his throat and something answered him from the roof of the house just in front. An augurey that he had helped rescue and raise thrilled back at him with a happy note. Hagrid made the sound again, but the bird just repeated the same one he'd made earlier.
A good sign, at least. And it would not rain, too.
The creatures had all answered when he had called for them. When he could not come through Mrs Figg's house, he knew that something very wrong was happening. He quickly apparated to the place, even though it caused him great pain to do so and investigated. He sent a message to Dumbledore and called for his creature friends to scout the area. A small fairy reported to him that the boy was fretting inside but that there was nothing wrong with him; a crup was strangely suspicious about Mrs Figg's front door—which was locked beyond the usual charms!—and Theodore, the Diricawl, could just barely manage to remain still without buckling its legs when he wandered around the area. So, there was some strange magic afoul here.
Fawkes had appeared at one point and made a bit of his own magic to enclose them in his protective spell as Dumbledore went on to investigate the area and in search for Mrs Figg. Hagrid felt much more relaxed at that point and went on to meet Harry.
The boy was very observant and very sensitive about magic, but he had still missed the many times a creature or another took a glance in the living room, nodding towards Hagrid or fluttering their wings or clicking their beaks in a pattern. It was part of discovering magic, of course, and he would soon be much more aware of the magic that permeated everyday living. And so would the readers of the story, I hope.
But Hagrid had still many tricks up his sleeves that we had not seen, of course. Magic was so wonderful and diverse that not even lifetimes upon lifetimes would be enough to see it all.
Hagrid went back inside and waited for the boy. He came back and Hagrid tried not to let the lump of his throat deter him as he observed his enthusiasm—such that he had not even noticed Hagrid watching him quietly from the door.
His terrible suspicions were confirmed when the boy absent-mindedly opened the cupboard under the stairs and scanned it quickly. He grabbed something, put it in that precarious and only half-filled bag of his and searched around the room before zeroing on Hagrid and quickly darting towards him, all smiles and pantings, with a flushed face and a twinkle in the eye that reminded Hagrid fondly of Professor Dumbledore—the spark of magic! Oh, how good to see that in the boy!
He was all ready to seemingly give up all that remained in that place, to leave it without a second thought. That he so readily gave it up …
"Well, Harry, got everything in there? Want me to put it in my coat?"
Harry stared at him quizzically.
"Could you? I mean? Is there any space around it anymore?"
Hagrid chuckled at Harry's amazement.
"Space charms are somethin' I would not touch with a ten foot pole if I'm able ter, but I have to have them if I want to pass through any doors. Pr'fesser Flitwick charmed almos' everythin' around my house an' he did me a favour with this coat 'ere, too. There's not a wizard on the Isles that can lift it because of how packed full of stuff it is! I do go overboard from time to time and sometimes forget an owl or somethin' in there, but Pr'fesser Flitwick made the spell real nice to them, so it does not hurt them at all. There, give me that."
And just like that Hagrid folded the bag in two—Harry winced at that because he was sure that was some kind of metal frame holding it together and put it into a pocket, the size of a handkerchief.
He tried to track it thoroughly but was surprised to find that he could just … not!
It is impossible to describe but the thing just fitted and disappeared, but it was not like it had vanished. He had seen it enter the pocket and everything, and yet, he could not pinpoint exactly how the thing had managed to defy space so outrightly, just in front of him!
He absolutely loved magic!
"Now, there yeh go. Good thing you did not pack much, wizard's clothes are much better, yeh'll see it in no time, at all. Madame Malkins knows how to work almost anythin' fer yeh," he said, brushing the coat before bading Harry out. He waved his wand and the house just … turned off?
Harry did not know how to explain it, but it was as if Hagrid had just locked everything and turned everything down or off. He did not know how he could manage to gleam that off his spell, but there was a different feeling about it. It felt kind of—stopped? Halted? Dormant? He did not know, but it was awesome.
They walked for some time until they had gotten to a park nearby. Harry thought that here and there he saw a strange bird or two, or heard something weird in the night, but Hagrid just laughed it off and went on talking to him about something or another.
"… and there's this thing called Butterbeer. It has a bit of somethin' to get yeh a little buzz innit, but if yerself Harry, that is not of age yet, grab a bottle, there's a bunch of spells on it that dries out all the bad stuff fer yeh before yeh drink, and is even more delicious without it. I'll buy one fer yeh when we get ter London today."
Wait, what?
Harry whirled his head around to face Hagrid.
"London? We are going to London? Today? But it is so far, and it is already late and—"
His voice died and he grinned at the beaming smile Hagrid was giving him. Of course they would. They had magic! He laughed as Hagrid waved his wand around and suddenly there were a hundred fireflies all around them. They circled Harry's face for a moment, lightly touching his ears and neck in curiosity—Harry felt a bit nervous at first, but when they did so he felt a strange warmth inside—before lighting up a path before them.
"I asked some friends of mine earlier ter bring somethin' fer us ter travel to London, somethin' very fast an' very, erm … cool! There are, of course, other types of travelling. There's even somethin' called apparation that can … erm, what it was that Minerva had said yeh woulda understand? I think she called it telepartin' or somethin' like that. But that's a nasty one fer someone young like yerself or just a lil' bit chubby like Rubeus Hagrid and his not so lil' friends, ha," he said laughing. "Always felt like they were makin' sausage out of meself. No, sir. Today, it is yer firs' day in the world of magic, the firs' day of the rest of yer life. Today, we ride with style."
And then Harry saw it.
It was a motorcycle—a very big, very mean-looking and very cool indeed motorcycle. It was all black with the handles and some of the motor and mechanical bits that Harry did not know th name of in silver or chrome. It had a mean flame design on the tank that slowly waved and changed colours—from red, to golden, to deep green, to pure white, to all in-between. And just to the side of it there was a baby-blue sidecar. It contrasted quite deeply with the motorcycle, but it was all very cool, nonetheless.
"Well, mount it on, we'll be in London in no time."
He had pulled a helmet from … he had said it earlier, but it still felt a bit weird to think and say about it, but he tried to imitate him, still:
He had pulled a helmet from … Merlin knows where, with two little horns and little teeth designs around its opening. Harry put it on and sat in the sidecar.
"Arthur Weasley, the man himself, made some upgrades fer me just a few weeks ago. He reinforced the shields, coated the internals with that silver paint that he invented, put on a new Invisibility button and even remade some of the wiring—whatever that's supposed to mean, eh?"
Hagrid revved the bike as he turned it on. It seemed like a lion's roar to Harry's ears and he thought that even from 4 Privet Drive he would be able to hear it.
No, not a lion's roar. The afternoon conversation came back to him. If anything that was a dragon's roar—he could bet on it.
He put his hands on his ears, and Hagrid sheepishly pressed a button on its panel.
"Sorry about that Harry, forgot about the sound spells. There yeh go, we should be able not to frighten any muggle an' hear ourselves now."
And suddenly it diminished, just a low rumbling sound in the background now. Hagrid pressed another button and Harry felt a strange feeling all over him—as if someone had suddenly broke a few dozens of eggs all above them for an instant. It was a bit disgusting but it went as quickly as it came. Harry looked around but did not feel any change … wait! Where was his shadow?
"Now, they should not be able to see us, now. Are you ready, Harry?"
They did not have shadows anymore? He still could see Hagrid and the bike … Did that meant that only things outside of where he and Hagrid were with the bike could not see them? Were they invisible to them or did the light just crossed them as they went through? Or …
"Harry?"
Harry blinked at Hagrid's face, now with a very large pair of thick and somewhat funny lenses over his eyes. He had a bit of a frown. Harry gave him a thumbs-up and grabbed on to the sidecar, giving the giant an equally giant smile. Hagrid laughed.
"Well, here we go, then. Hold on tight, Harry."
For a brief moment Harry wondered how magic would aide them getting to London this fast. Had the motorbike a way to make traffic clear the way as they passed? Or was it just superfast? His heartbeat went up with excitement as Hagrid revved the motor one last time before shifting the gear.
And suddenly they were up. Harry let out a mighty shriek that soon turned into great laughter with Hagrid as they went up and up, fast and faster, like a bird, like a plane, like a super-hero from Dudley's magazines gliding through the skies, like two lunatics on an enchanted bike.
Harry let go of the side of the sidecar and looked down below as Little Whinging—the place to which he was confined in as far back as he remembered, since before he could walk or talk properly, since his parents had died—disappeared as if it was but a firefly, one of the hundreds that had pointed their way to them, to a new world.
He let out a delighted scream as Hagrid manoeuvred around the air, equally letting out booming screams of his own.
"I forgot ter tell yeh, Harry! The motorbike flies!" Hagrid had said managing to be sheepish even while screaming.
Harry's smile grew wider.
He absolutely loved magic.
As the travel went through, Harry thought that he had been a fool for thinking that they would not get to London that day. Even by car, it should not have been such a long travel, but Uncle Vernon talked about London traffic long enough to put a bit of apprehension in Harry when Hagrid revved the bike.
But as it was, they arrived in it just short of fourty or so minutes later. Harry even felt a bit disappointed, too, because it had been so amazing. Soon enough the River Thames loomed under them and there were only buildings as far as the eye could see.
Harry had only been to London a handful of times, but he liked the city well enough. There were so many people and so many things to see. He felt that he could fit right in in whatever space the city could make for him, far away from 4 Privet Drive—one nobody amongst a sea of nobodies.
Oh, them and the important people, too. The ladies, lords and all of those folks. It all seemed so distant to him, far away in Little Whinging. Now that he was seeing the palaces and stodgy-looking grandiose buildings, he only felt it all the more distant—a world apart from him, now.
He wasn't sure if he would miss the muggle world too much—magic was just that wonderful. But a little part of him just felt that someday he would walk those streets alone and free just to see what it was all about.
"We'll take a bit of a detour. Hold on tight, and believe me, I have not lost my wits yet."
They passed through many palaces and gardens, following the river. They passed through that beautiful bridge that Harry had forgotten the name of. Hagrid passed under it and Harry could just manage to touch the water if he wanted to. He did not because he was very suspicious of it if he was honest.
And then—
Then they left London behind.
What was Hagrid's doing?
"Hagrid, we're leaving London, I think …"
"Yes, just a few miles and we'll be there. Hold on Harry."
The lights of the city diminished behind them and the Thames soon opened out to the sea. Harry thought that here and there he could see a big bird of some sort or a flying creature, even a plane and helicopters flew by as Hagrid gave the accelerator his all, and suddenly—
"Hold on tight, Harry!" The giant said before letting out a maddening laughter.
He suddenly turned the motorbike down, making a daring dive towards the Thames Estuary. Harry screamed, half in joy, half in absolute terror and confusion as the giant revved the motorbike closer to the ground.
Closer, closer—
"Hurray!"
And then they hit the water.